


Brooklyn, Brooklyn Take Me In

by Nightwing11



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Secret Relationship, Steve Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightwing11/pseuds/Nightwing11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Prompt:</p><p>"What if Steve Rogers killed the Winter Solider before he unmasked him and realized who it was?"</p><p>Enter HYDRA being manipulative assholes, Sam Wilson and Clint Barton doing their best to save the day, Steve feeling guilty and reckless, and things aren't quite as dark as they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brooklyn, Brooklyn Take Me In

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Avett Brothers' "I and Love and You"

Rollins whistled lowly. “He killed Winter. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

 

Steve could barely hear over the ringing in his ears from the hard hit he’d taken from the Winter Soldier. The assassin’s body laid motionless on the ground, neck turned at an awkward angle. Steve hadn’t wanted to kill the man, per say, but the masked assassin had been relentless, coming at Steve with everything he had.

 

So, when the blond had been able to get ahold of the man, he’d done the only logical - and perhaps humane - thing, which was to put him down with a quick snapping of the neck.

 

Rumlow chuckled behind Steve. His team - God, Steve had trusted all of them - had their guns poised at him, Sam, and Natasha. A small crowd had gathered and even more HYDRA forces were arriving, making any attempt at escape meaningless.

 

Brock leaned forward, his hot breath tickling Steve’s ear, making him cringe away.

 

“Go on. Take a look. See the monster behind the mask.”

 

Steve glared, because even though he had killed the assassin, even though he had snapped his neck with his bare hands, that didn’t mean Steve had _enjoyed_ it.

 

Brock growled, digging the barrel of his gun against Steve’s temple. “I said, _take a look.”_

 

Steve glanced back at Natasha, blood oozing from her shoulder, and Sam, on his knees, hands behind his head. He knew he had dragged them into this, that he was the cause of whatever fate they were about to meet.

 

Steve shook his head, knowing that he needed to comply with Rumlow to keep the man’s temper in check. The longer Steve followed orders, the longer the former Strike Team would keep him alive. The longer he was alive, the longer he had to come up with a plan.

 

But something about the amusement, the _twisted humor_ that gleamed in Rumlow’s eyes tied Steve’s stomach in knots. He had never been the most intuitive person, but something was causing warning bells to ring in his head.

 

Steve made his way to his feet, Brock keeping the gun trailed on his head as he stepped forward.

 

The body below him was lifeless, eyes glazed over and staring into space. Steve studied the prone form, prepared for an attack. However, something in the back of his mind whispered that whatever Rumlow had planned would be much, much worse.

 

Steeling himself, the Captain squated down, hands none too gentle as he peeled away the mask the assassin was wearing.

 

The world stopped. Steve’s vision zeroed in on the figure before him, the blood pulsing loud in his ears and drowning out all other sounds.

 

The mask slipped from his hands, bouncing with a clatter on the asphalt, as Steve stared and stared and -

 

“No.” He wasn’t sure if it was a broken whisper or a scream of pain, unaware of anything and everything that wasn’t the Winter Soldier.

 

Because there before him. Bloody and broken and beaten and - _God, Steve had done that. Steve’s hands had caused that_ \- was his best friend, the love of his life.

 

“ _Bucky_.” The name came out as a reverent whisper, before a loud, vicious sob ripped out of Steve’s throat.

 

“No, no, no no, no.” Steve made to lunge forward, but before he could, he was grabbed by four of the Strike Team members.

 

“Bucky!” Steve screamed, his throat already raw from it. He pulled viciously, because _no_. This couldn’t - the universe wasn’t this cruel. Steve couldn’t lose _everything_ , not again.

 

He had Bucky within arm’s length. He had been close enough to hold and protect. But rather than kiss him senseless and beg his forgiveness and _never let him go again_ , he had snapped his neck.

 

_Oh, God. He’s dead, I killed him._

 

Steve continued to try to get to Bucky, because no. It couldn’t end this way. This couldn’t be the end of the line. He couldn’t be responsible for Bucky’s death yet again.

 

Steve fell to his knees in his struggles, breaking free long enough that he could rest his forehead against Bucky’s. He brought his cuffed hand up to run through Bucky’s hair.

 

“Bucky.” Steve sobbed, a broken miserable thing. The voice of a man who had lost everything one too many times. “Baby, wake up.”

 

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch.

 

Steve’s voice broke as it voiced one final plea. A final petition to God or the angels or to anyone that would fucking listen. “ _Please_.”

 

Steve’s sobs wracked his body so viciously he could barely breathe. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He muttered into the dead man’s ear.

 

Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him away. Steve struggled, because like _hell_ were they taking Bucky away from him again. There was already an empty casket with the name James Buchanan Barnes attached to it. He wasn’t going to let these monsters have his body or worse, leave it in the hot DC sun to rot.

 

“No.” Steve snarled, but even he couldn’t fight off the strength of six men. Not while handcuffed. Not while heartbroken.

 

“No, let me go!” Steve screamed, pulling against the strike force team for all he was worth.

 

Rumlow knelt beside Bucky’s body. “I take it you knew each other.” The man ran his grimy hand down Bucky’s cheek.

 

“Don’t touch him!” Steve snapped, pulling with renewed strength.

 

“It’s a damn shame. All those decades we spent molding him.”

 

Steve froze. _Decades?_ Rumlow couldn’t - they couldn’t have had Bucky -

 

His panic and grief must have been written plainly across his face, cause Rumlow chuckled. “Oh, we’ve had him for _years,_ Cap. Since he fell off the train back in ‘44. Docs had some fun trying to break him those first few years. He kept thinking you’d come save him.”

 

Steve couldn’t breathe, the guilt in his chest expanding, compressing his lungs and his heart to the point he thought it would consume him, leave the rest of him to shrivel up and die, and God, death sounded better than hearing any more about what they’d done to Bucky.

 

Bucky had been captured and tortured and mutilated and God only knows what else, and all the while he thought Steve was coming. And what had Steve been doing? Fucking napping in the ice.

 

_I should have been able to pull him back inside the train. I should have looked for him after he fell. I should have demanded we go back for the body. I should have -_

 

“Get them to Pierce.” Rumlow said. “I’ll dump the body.”

 

“No!” Steve shouted, pulling with all he had against the men.

 

His screams turned primal, no longer sensible. There were no words, no threats or pleas. Rather, just a loud scream that reverberated along the walls of the skyscrapers.

 

A needle plunged into his Steve’s neck, the substance within burning as it dispensed into his veins.

 

The last thing he saw before he blacked out, his scream dying on his lips, was Rumlow looking at Bucky’s broken body like it was nothing more than a piece of trash to be thrown out.

 

* * *

 

Maria had saved them, taken them to Fury, who swore up and down he didn’t know about Bucky, that if he had, they would have...well, Fury says they would have tried to bring him in, but likely would have at least put him out of his misery. (When he wanted to be, Fury was honest to a fault.)

 

Steve ignored the concerned glances from Natasha and the inquiries into his psyche by Sam.

 

Fuck, Steve just wanted to go home and sleep (and if he never woke up, well, he wouldn’t complain).

 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave his new friends to clean up his messes - because HYDRA was his mess as far as he was concerned. He should have put them down for good back in the 40s. And he sure as fuck wasn’t going to let the people who hurt Bucky get off scot-free.

 

But, when the missiles started flying while he was still in the last carrier, well, he was content to let it happen. For it to end. For him to finally be the one who fell.

 

Thankfully, Sam had predicted his reckless tendencies, swooped in with his wings, gripping Steve around the waist and flying him to safety.

 

And, as Steve’s feet hit solid ground, he knew he couldn’t stop fighting. Because the moment he set the shield down, well, he didn’t know where he’d find the strength to pick it up again.

 

* * *

 

Two Months Later:

 

Sam frowned as he entered the apartment, seeing the food that Natasha had brought the night before still sat cold and untouched on Steve’s table. He placed the takeout he himself had brought beside it, knowing it was a lost cause, before he walked further into the house.

 

Steve was lying on his couch, in the same outfit as the day before. Scruff grew wild along his face and dark, heavy circles so dark they looked painted on under his eyes. He stared blankly at the wall.

 

Half-healed bruises and cuts littered his face and limbs from injuries he had sustained the prior week. A brace wrapped around his wrist where he had completely shattered it upon trying to catch himself when he was knocked off the roof.

 

“Hey. I brought breakfast.” Sam offered gently, walking into Steve’s eyesight.

 

“Not hungry.”

 

Sam sighed, resting his hand on his hip. “Yeah, and you weren’t hungry yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the day before that.”

 

Steve set his mouth in a thin line.

 

“Steve, come on man. You’ve got to eat so you can heal up and get back out there--”

 

“We both know they’re not going to let me back out in the field. SHIELD’s been looking for an excuse to bench me since DC.”

 

“Can you blame them?” Sam asked, exasperated. “You’ve been reckless, aggressive, careless. After last week, we’re lucky we didn’t have to scrape you off sidewalk.”

 

The former pararescueman knelt in front of Steve. “Look, man. You’ve...you can’t keep this all bottled up inside of you, okay? You can’t let it eat away at you like that. Talk to us.”

 

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat, curling in on himself all the more. “I’m talking. You’re making me see that damn shrink.” Faustus. The only one who didn’t absolve Steve of his guilt. Who made him say aloud, over and over again, his role, his _blame,_ for Bucky’s death and for the torture that had been outlined so vividly in that damn file. The doctor had assured Steve that, while it would get worse before it got better, the only way to move past the guilt was to accept it.

 

“Yeah, well, clearly that isn’t doing enough.” Sam reached out to rest a hand on Steve, but, thinking better of it at the last moment, pulled away with a sigh. “I know, okay? Riley was my best friend and --”

 

“Bucky wasn’t _just_ my best…” Steve blinked rapidly, but his tear ducts had long along dried up, making it near impossible for any new tears to flow. “He wasn’t just....we were…”

 

Sam’s eyes grew wide as the realization dawned on him. “You were together.”

 

“He was the love of my life. The best thing that ever…” He paused, as if considering his next words carefully.

 

“We couldn’t…” Steve swallowed, struggling to speak aloud the secret he had kept hidden for so long. “It was illegal back then, you know? People like us got beat and killed. But, right before he shipped off for Basic, Bucky had read Romeo and Juliet. Damn sap decided we should get married. It wasn’t official or anything, couldn’t be, but…”

 

“But it was to you.”

 

Steve nodded, face crumbling. “I missed him, every fucking second he was gone. And he was there. He was right fucking there and I...I should have known. I should have protected him. But instead I-”

 

Steve shoved a fist against his mouth, biting back a sob.

 

“Hey,” Sam laid a cautious hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but his death? It ain’t on you.”

  
“Then who’s it on?”

 

“Pierce. HYDRA. Rumlow. Take your damn pick. Tell me this, had you known it was him, what would you have done?”

 

Steve took only moment to articulate his words. (Because, oh, had he thought about the “what if’s” of it all). “Held him. Apologized. Brought him home and kept him safe. Killed any bastard who ever tried to take him from me again.”

 

“See? You never meant to hurt him, Steve. You can’t blame yourself for this. HYDRA pitted you against each other knowing this would happen.”

 

“I should have known it was him.”

 

“If the shoe was on the other foot, would you want him to blame himself?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Then why can’t you extend yourself the same courtesy?”

 

Steve paused, knowing Sam wouldn’t let this go (and that this was the opposite of what Faustus recommended). “Sam, can we drop it? Please.”

 

Sam nodded. “Alright, but I’m going to sit here and we’re going to watch crappy television together.” He paused, considering. “And, you know, when all this stops hurting so much that you can breathe again...I’m always here to talk.”

 

Steve didn’t answer, afraid to tell Sam that he didn’t think that day would ever come.

 

* * *

 

The video of the energy beam hitting Steve and throwing him off the roof of a twelve story building played over and over again. Steve’s body hit the concrete below with a thud, forming a crater around him. The hero had clearly survived, but the injuries he sustained during that fight and countless ones before were extensive.

 

“Turn. It. Off.”

 

Rumlow’s laughter echoed through the tiny hideout as he ignored the man behind him.

 

“Well would you look at that. Boy really is like a cockroach. Just won’t stay dead.”

 

He turned and smiled at his captive.

 

Bucky Barnes, locked in an unbreakable cage, (much like Loki was held in prior to the Chitauri invasion) glared at his former handler. With circles under his eyes, as well as split knuckles on his flesh hand, Bucky threw another fist at the plexiglass that separated him from Rumlow, from the outside world, from freedom, _from Steve._

 

“I swear to God, Rumlow. When I get out of here, I’m going to put a bullet in your fucking brain.”

 

“Oh, come on, Winter. Don’t be like that.”

 

Bucky’s face set into a scowl. “My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.”

 

“Keep telling yourself that. We both know there ain’t a thing of him left in you.”

 

“You so sure about that, why don’t you let me out. See what happens.”

 

“Don’t see what you’re complaining about. I still let you see him, don’t I?” Rumlow smiled darkly as he hit play, starting the clip of Steve’s body being broken by the ground once more.

  
Bucky only had eyes for Steve, watching as he writhed in the crater, clearly in pain. (And wasn’t it just like Stevie to not even have the luxury of being unconscious to escape his pain.) Rumlow had told him he’d been sidelined, the SHIELD doctors finally putting their foot down and stopping the reckless behavior before he got himself killed.

 

The fact that Steve’s guilt was making him reckless, unconcerned with protecting his own six and taking _stupid fucking_ risks that led him to the brink of death - well, it simultaneously made Bucky want the blood of every HYDRA agent who had kept him and Steve apart, as well as want to wrap Steve in a cocoon of bubble wrap and blankets, holding and kissing him until he got it through his head that they were both okay and that none of what happened to Bucky, _none of it,_ was Steve’s fault.

 

The shouting and scolding of Steve’s dumbassery, of his crashing aircrafts and throwing himself off buildings could wait until they both started to feel whole again.

 

“Feeling guilty again?” Rumlow asked, his voice full of fake concern. _Motherfucker._ “It’ll be okay, Winter. The doctor’s are almost done with the chair. Soon enough you won’t remember Steve at all.”

 

Bucky’s blood ran cold every time Brock mentioned that fucking monstrosity. HYDRA’s numbers had taken a hit during the events in DC, which meant a lot of their scientist were dead or in hiding. Add to that Pierce’s death and, more importantly, Steve’s bloody crusade against all things HYDRA and, well, not a lot of people were willing to stand beside the evil fuckers that were still breathing.

 

However, since Bucky woke up, neck in a brace (apparently Steve had _broken_ his neck, but hadn’t severed anything, which means HYDRA just kept him sedated until his neck had healed like any other bone) he had remembered everything. Apparently hearing Steve scream and in pain - and yeah, he had been aware for that and those sounds would haunt his nightmares until the day he died - had been enough to break through his conditioning. Goodbye Winter Soldier, hello incredibly-pissed-off-and-slightly-homicidal Bucky Barnes.

 

However, it was just a matter of time before Rumlow got the chair working again. And all those memories of his past, of his family, of _Steve_ would be lost to him once more.

 

Bucky’s eyes remained locked on Steve as footage of the fight started again. The blond’s body language, his actions, hell, everything about him screamed _vulnerable_ or _broken -_ well, when it wasn’t screaming _murderous, unstable super soldier._ And Bucky knew that as soon as HYDRA re-wiped him, took out all the things that made him _Steve’s Bucky,_ they’d send him after Steve to put him down for good.

 

What hurt even more was that Steve wouldn’t fight back this time. That he’d let Bucky do whatever he was sent to do.

 

“I’ll find a way to kill myself before I hurt him again.”

 

Brock smiled darkly. “Don’t worry. We got our resident psychic working on him. At this rate, Cap’ll be eating his own gun in no time.”

 

Bucky snarled on the other side of the plexi-glass, fist slamming against the barrier, though it, of course, didn’t crack.

 

“Hell, maybe we can – “ Whatever torture Brock had in store for Captain America were cut short when a taser arrow slammed into his back, causing him to crumble to the floor, spasming briefly before falling unconscious.

 

“Room secure. Rum –“ The purple clad man’s eyes grew wide as they landed on Bucky.

“Holy fuck.”

 

Bucky pressed his hands against the glass so hard his palms ached. He looked at Clint with something akin of desperation and hope, his eyes darting around the room. “Steve?”

 

“Wilson. We got a situation.” Clint said into his earpiece, pulling his bowstring back and keeping an arrow pointed at Bucky, despite him being in a cell.

 

“Is Steve with you? Is he okay?” Bucky pleaded for information, praying Steve was finally within arm’s reach.

 

“I don’t think that’s the most pressing question at the moment, do you?”

 

“Please...just...I didn’t want...” His eyes flew back to the screen, where Steve’s body was once more slamming against the ground. “Is he..”The voice sounded so broken, so desperate and frightened that Clint could feel nothing but empathy for the man. Because Clint, better than most, knew what it was like to be forced to attack your loved ones. To have a weapon put in your hands and be made to aim and fire at the only good thing in your life.

 

“Steve’s fine.” Clint quickly reassured, lowering his bow.

 

Sam came whipping around the corner a moment later, eyes wide and nearly bugging out of his head as he saw Bucky. “Shit.”

 

Bucky’s gaze darted between the two of them. “He has to….I wouldn’t….They made me....he has to _know_.”

 

Sam looked at Clint, confused, his hand still resting on his holster. However, Clint nodded and slung his bow over his shoulder, trying to put Bucky at ease. “He knows. Steve knows it wasn’t you. That it wasn’t your choice.”

 

Sam’s hand fell away from his holster, as the meaning and concern behind Bucky’s words dawned on him. “Yeah, man. Steve never blamed you, not even before Nat gave him the file.” He paused, considering his next words carefully before he decided that Bucky needed to hear them. Because even though Steve wasn’t here, Sam could still voice his friend’s feelings. “He still loves you.”

 

Bucky whimpered, curling in on himself for a brief moment. He had no idea how Steve could still love him. He had read the file, seen what Bucky had done, seen the monster he’d been made into. Hell, Bucky had come at Steve _with a knife,_ and had Steve not fought back as hard as he could (and _thank God_ Steve hadn’t faltered, hadn’t known he was fighting his other half), Bucky would have plunged it right into his heart.

 

So how Steve could still love him was beyond Bucky’s understand, and a far greater gift than anything he had hoped for. However, he couldn’t dwell on it, couldn’t question the validity of the winged man’s words. Instead, Bucky looked up, eyes pleading.

 

“You’ve got to let me out.”

 

Clint and Sam exchanged worried glances.

 

“Look, you can lock me up with SHIELD or put me in front of a firing squad, _I don’t care.” Bucky_ practically growled _. “_ But HYDRA’s got their hooks in Steve. They’re gonna push him too far if you don’t _help him.”_

 

 _“_ What are you- _”_

 

“Faustus.” Bucky explained, eyes wide and panicked. “He’s HYDRA. This whole time, he’s been convincing Steve to accept his role in my death. That he’s to blame. He’s making Steve spiral. They’re gonna break him! You’ve got to help. He can’t...I’m not _worth_ it!” Bucky shouted, his voice growing louder, coming faster and on edge.

 

“Hey, it’s alright, man.” Sam soothed, taking a cautious step toward the prison as Clint began talking to Natasha on his headset, making sure she intervened before Steve’s next psych appointment.

 

“We’re gonna get you out and get you to Steve, alright? He’s safe. We won’t let anything happen to him.” Sam explained as he began looking for a way to open the cage.

 

“ _Thank you_.” Bucky breathed. “I just...just let me see him, tell him it wasn’t his fault, then you can lock me up or put me down-”

 

“Hey.” Sam interjected sharply. “We won’t let anything happen to you, either. You’re Steve’s family, and we protect our own. You aren’t going to be a scapegoat for HYDRA.”

 

Bucky swallowed loudly, before nodding, his eyes suspiciously wet.

 

Clint stuck his head back inside. “Tasha’s running interference, her and Carter are detaining Faustus as we speak, and trust me, those two, they’ll make him pay until Bucky here can. Coulson’s team’s got the rest of the base. Wilson, you got the door?”

 

“Another minute.”

 

“Cool.” Clint smiled brightly at Bucky. “I’ll go fire up the Quinjet. You’re going home, Barnes.” With a friendly wink, he was out the door.

 

Sam finally managed to open the cell, offering Bucky the first freedom he’d had in over seventy years.

 

“Come on.” Sam nodded his head toward the door. “You can get cleaned up on the plane. Let’s get you back to your husband.”

 

Bucky stumbled, eyes wide with shock and an underlying sense of fear.Sam faltered for a moment, before realizing what he had said.

 

“Hey man, it’s alright. It’s legal now. I’m the only one Steve’s told, but trust me, no one’s gonna care that he’s your husband. If they do, they’ll have to answer to all of SHIELD and the Avengers first.”

 

Bucky remained frozen, looking at Sam with an unreadable expression, prompting Sam to ask “You okay?”

 

The former assassin still looked dazed. “No one else has called Steve that before.”

 

“Called him what?”

 

“My husband.” Bucky admitted in a vulnerable whisper.

 

Sam frowned, and, for the first time, it truly hit him how hard it must have been for Steve and Bucky. Going out on double dates to keep up appearances, being unable to kiss each other goodbye before Bucky was shipped overseas or after Steve found him. Being so close to each other during a damn war, but not being able to offer the other any significant kind of physical comfort because of prying eyes.

 

Hell, Steve hadn’t even been able to grieve Bucky properly after he fell off the train.

 

“Well, you won’t have to hide it anymore. Not if you guys don’t want to.” He grinned. “Let’s get you back to Steve.”

 

Bucky mouth curled up in a smirk for the first time that century. “We need to make a stop first.”

 

* * *

_  
_

Steve laid curled on his side, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Since his injury had rendered him unable to go after HYDRA, at least for the time being, he’d spiraled further into depression.

 

Faustus had spoken to him about accepting his guilt in Bucky’s death, that the sooner he owned up to his role, the sooner he’d begin healing.

 

But Steve had always known. Known he got Bucky killed, both back in the 40s and just a couple of months ago. That he had lead Bucky to his death, that not only had he kept him from going home but asked him to take part in the most dangerous missions.

 

He was pulled from his musings by the sound of the front door opening and closing quietly behind him. Steve curled in tighter on himself, stifling a sob as footsteps made their way to him. Because Steve knew what it was.

 

The hallucinations had started right after Sam and Natasha had forced him to start seeing Faustus. Bucky walking through the door, looking and acting like he had before the war...until blood would begin pouring from his shoulder, injuries littering his body as he cursed Steve for killing him.

 

The vision of Bucky would then whip his head to the side, his neck contorting in an awful, unnatural angle, continuing his litany of blaming Steve for sometimes minutes, sometimes hours.

 

And Steve, well, he _knew_ it wasn’t real, but God, did it feel real. He had talked to Faustus, who merely told him it was his conscious trying to work its way through his guilt. The doctor had said no pill he had would work with Steve’s increased metabolism, either to help him sleep or make the visions less vivid. Rather, the doctor had said the only way Steve would ever overcome the visions would be to accept his guilt and integrate it into his life, which Steve didn’t see how he could do that anymore than he already was.

 

And Steve, God, he hated this routine. Yes, seeing a dead loved one might be considered a gift by some people. But, Steve knew it wasn’t _real_. That Bucky was still dead and gone and that _Steve_ had put him there. And then, to see how much pain Bucky must have been in after the fall, how much blood he must have spilt. Hearing how he cried out for Steve every night, every torture session for the first year, believing the love of his life would come and save him like he had _promised_ , it made Steve wish he had never waken up from the ice.

 

At least in the ice, he wasn’t in pain.

 

And how selfish was that? While Bucky was being tortured, having his free will taken away and being treated like a weapon, like fucking _property_ , Steve had slept peacefully in the ice.

 

God, if Steve had more energy (or anything in his stomach) the guilt would make him vomit.

 

But, night after night of Bucky hurling blame and insults and hate at him were starting to wear on the Captain.

 

And every night, Bucky always made sure to say the same thing. The phrase, the words that cut Steve’s soul and made him hurt all over.

 

_I wish I’d never loved you._

 

Steve would always start sobbing at this because he wished that too. No matter how much it would have hurt, having Bucky alive and well, even if he wasn’t in Steve’s life, would always be a better alternative to what HYDRA had done to him.

 

The footsteps stopped in front of him, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut harder. He was too exhausted, too guilt ridden, and just too heartbroken to see Bucky’s broken, mangled corpse cursing him to the ends of the Earth and back.

 

“Stevie?” Bucky’s familiar voice questioned, a hint of awe around it, like it’s owner had just been handed all the riches in the world.

 

A whimper escaped Steve, as his coiled body starting to tremble.

 

“Stevie, hey. It’s okay.”

 

Steve muffled another sob, tears leaking through the corner of his eyes. _I can’t do this again. I can’t-_

 

“Shhh. Calm down.” A shuddering breath. “God, Steve, what did they _do_ to you? The vision’s voice sounded as wrecked as Steve felt, like he had been ripped apart and stapled back together, but nobody had bothered to use anesthetic and left the sutures in to damage the skin anew.

 

Steve shook through a sob, burying his face in his hands.

 

“Do you want me to go?” The voice whispered. “I can...Sam and Natali- Natasha are outside. I can get them instead.”

 

Steve shook his head vigorously, because no. He didn’t want Sam or Natasha. He wanted Bucky. But Steve had ruined any chance of that. Had killed Bucky with his own damned hands and now he just wanted to drown in his guilt and never resurface. 

 

“‘m fine.” He swallowed, trying to force the words past the lump in his throat. “And I know I...just, not...please, I can’t hear you _blame_ me again.”

 

“Steve, when did I…” A dawning. “That son of a bitch.” He muttered under his breath.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Bucky, I’m so…” Steve began his litany of apologies, as per the usual, hoping against hope he could finally purge Bucky from his mind (And that was going to open a whole other can of agony and misery.)

 

“Steve, baby, I’m real.” The voice was closer now, level with Steve’s face. “Your therapist, he was HYDRA. Had special powers, was putting visions in your head.”

 

“Please, Bucky. Don’t-”

 

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice was so soft, gentle and warm - a tone he hadn’t used since Steve had woken up screaming from a nightmare during the war. The blond had dreamt he had found Bucky dead in Zola’s lab, and Bucky had comforted him, calming his frantic mind and heart. “I’ve never blamed you. Ever. And I’m so-” The words got choked on a sob. “I’m so damn sorry those bastards used me to hurt you.” A hand gently ran through his hair. “It wasn’t your fault, Steve. Nothing that happened to me is on you.”

 

The hand running through his hair moved to his cheek, the metal pad of the apparition’s thumb smoothing away the tears that had leaked from Steve’s eyes.

 

The blond let out a loud sob, unable to deal with the affection his hallucination was giving him. Because he didn’t deserve this. The comfort, the compassion. And God, if he bought into it, actually believed that Bucky was here, in his apartment, the cool metal of his thumb brushing away his tears-

 

 _This isn’t right. This isn’t right._ He had never felt the visions before, never jumped so far off the deep end that it felt this _real_. And even then, Steve had never envisioned the Bucky from the Hydra files, at least not at first. It was always Bucky looking as he did the night before he shipped out, never…

 

Steve’s eyes snapped opened, and he gasped. _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God._ This wasn’t _his_ Bucky. This Bucky had about twenty more pounds of muscle mass. Scruff lined his cheeks and dark circles rounded his eyes. His hair was long and shaggy.

 

The metal arm gleamed in the sunlight.

 

Steve froze. Honest to God, froze, mouth hanging open and voice catching in his throat, because this...this was real, solid flesh and bone Bucky Barnes. Something he never thought he’d see again.

 

Bucky smirked as best he could. “Heya, Punk.” His nonchalant tone fell flat against the tears that were falling down his face as he looked at Steve, hands twitching, fighting the urge to just pull Steve into his arms and never let go. “Guess I’ve got nine lives. Well, probably more like six at this point…”

 

Steve stayed frozen, eyes following Bucky’s every move, barely blinking, fearful Bucky would just disappear into the oblivion like every other night.

 

Bucky stared at him, eyes wide and pleading as he waited for acknowledgement from Steve that didn’t come. “Baby, you’re scaring me.”

 

“You’re dead.” Steve muttered, his voice cracking. “I _killed_ you.”

 

“No, Stevie.” Bucky dropped to both knees in front of the couch. “I’m alright. I’m _fine._ It…HYDRA planted some drugs in my arm to make me seem dead for easy extraction.”

 

“But, I - I snapped your neck! You weren’t breathing. And I couldn’t find your body. Bucky, I couldn’t _find_ you.”

 

Steve struggled to keep his breathing in check, his chest constricting tightly like it had all those years ago when he was prone to asthma attacks. He tried to inhale, but it was combatted with a sob, keeping the air from his lungs.

 

“Stevie.” Bucky breathed, his own heart shattering. Because Steve, he didn’t cry. Not like this. Even after his Mom passed away, Steve was always able to keep his emotions in check like any good Irish folk hopes to.

 

But, here, in his apartment, with heartache and guilt and agony weighing down on him, Steve had lost himself in his grief.

 

Every protective instinct HYDRA couldn’t purge from Bucky’s mind flared up. Using his flesh hand, he gripped Steve’s and pulled him off the couch. The blond went willingly, falling into Bucky’s arms, gripping the brunet’s t-shirt like it was the last lifeline he might ever be offered.

 

Bucky held Steve as tightly as he could, frowning at how skinny he had become. He remembered Steve from before the fall, hell, even while they were fighting in DC, and the blond was far skinnier that he had ever been after the serum. Dark circles around his eyes stood out against the pale skin.

 

“It’s alright. I got you.”

 

The blond buried his face in the juncture between his lover’s neck and shoulder. Bucky’s arms around him, his smell, the way his right hand gently massaged the back of Steve’s neck brought 25 years of memories to the forefront. _Home. I’m home._ Steve shook, gripping Bucky’s shirt even tighter.

 

After a particularly violent sob, Bucky dropped a kiss to Steve’s temple, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his spine as he held the man closer.

 

“Shhh. Breathe, Stevie.” Bucky commanded, prying one  of Steve’s hands loose from his shirt and placing it over his heart. “Feel that? I’m right here.”

 

Steve took in a gasping, stuttering breath, causing Bucky to tighten his grip around the blond, cradling him against his chest.

 

Steve didn’t, or rather couldn’t, calm down. Instead he began a mantra of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Jesus, Buck, I’m so fucking sorry.” The words only broken by his sobs.

 

Bucky frowned, anger and rage boiling under the surface. Rumlow had told him HYDRA was going to break Steve. And they had done their damndest. Bucky wanted nothing more than to find every sorry son of a bitch who had anything to do with it and put a fucking bullet in their skull.

 

But, there would be time for that later. He was sure Natalia (and perhaps even Sam and Clint) would join him on his revenge tour. But for now, Steve was hurt. Steve was _hurting_ and Bucky would be damned if he let that go on a minute longer.

 

Gently, he pulled Steve back, gripping his face between both his hands, his heart breaking at the whimper that sounded from Steve’s throat. The blond recoiled slightly, as if he expected Bucky to lash out.

 

“You got nothing to be sorry for. I’m right here. I’m fine.”

 

“I snapped your neck.” Steve murmured. “I hurt you. I _hurt you.”_

 

“You didn’t know, Stevie.” Bucky ran a gentle hand through Steve’s hair. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I attacked you first. You were just defending yourself. You _didn’t know._ ”

 

“It was just like before.” Steve’s voice cracked, taking a shuddering breath as he waited out a round of sobs. All the pain and the grief, all the apologies he had spewed to the hallucinations built up inside him and he had to get them out. He had to make sure Bucky knew. “You were gone. I killed you and just left you. You keep getting hurt and it’s all my fault.”

 

“No. _I_ chose to follow you to war.” Bucky snapped. “ _HYDRA_ chose to torture me. None of that is on you, okay. _None of it.”_

 

“I didn’t even _look_ for you!” The fists twisted in Bucky’s shirt tightened. “I could have found you, could have _saved_ you.” _I should have sent you home after I found you. I should have never asked you to zipline onto that train. You were a sniper, you weren’t - I should have looked for you body. I should have brought you_ home _._

 

“Aw, Stevie.” Bucky pulled him close again, cradling Steve’s head against his shoulder. “You didn’t know. You had to keep fighting.”

 

“I didn’t want to.” Steve muttered. “I just wanted _you_.”

 

Bucky made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

 

The former assassin gently rocked Steve, holding the man as tightly as he could, wishing that his arms could fit Steve’s broken pieces back together.

 

Steve burrowed closer into Bucky’s hold, letting out all the tears, all the grief and anger and thoughts of how un- _fucking_ -fair his life was come out in broken and brittle sobs.

 

And he found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he had his old body. The sickly, tiny thing he had always resented. Because Steve had fit so much better in Bucky’s arm before the serum, and he found himself wanting to revisit a time when the older man could wrap around him like a security blanket or a cocoon and protect him from the rest of the world.

 

“Do you want me to tell you what happened?” Bucky asked after several minutes, pulling back ever so slightly in an attempt to meet Steve’s eyes.

 

Terrified by the potential loss of contact, Steve finally released his grip on the front of Bucky’s shirt, only to throw his arms tightly around the brunet instead, burying his head in the crook of the other man’s neck.

 

“Later.” He muttered, his breath tickling Bucky’s exposed skin. “Just….don’t…” _Don’t leave me. Don’t blame me. Don’t hate me. Don’t let me go._

 

“Never.” Bucky vowed, kissing the top of Steve’s head before he rested his cheek on the same spot.

 

The former assassin hummed some song from the forties, unsure of the words or artist, but certain in the melody. The sound vibrated in his chest and, as a result, Steve’s, who was pressed so tightly to Bucky there was no space between them.

 

They remained like that for minutes, hours, hell, it could have been days and Bucky wouldn’t have been able to tell you. His whole world was zeroed in on the blond in his arms.

 

Finally, Steve’s breath evened out, calm and steady, just like Bucky had become accustomed to after the serum. Bucky took the opportunity to frame Steve’s face with his hands, pulling it away from his neck.

 

Steve let out a whine, his eyes threatening to shed new tears, before Bucky moved forward, his lips meeting Steve’s for the first time in over 70 years. However, rather than urgent and forceful the way most people imagine a reunion kiss, Bucky was gentle and sweet. The way he saw it, both he and Steve had hurt each other enough for a lifetime.

 

Steve clutched the back of Bucky’s shirt in his fists, his breath hitching. He never thought he’d get to have this again. Bucky moved one hand to cradle the back of Steve’s head, the other rubbing soothing circles at Steve’s hip.

 

As the need to breathe took over, the two broke apart, Bucky resting his forehead on Steve’s, cupping his face with his flesh and blood hand, his thumb moving back and forth over the cheek bone.

 

“God, I love you.”

 

Steve’s face crumbled as he remembered all the nights of hearing his dream (or maybe nightmare) version of Bucky blame him for his death. Bucky claiming to still love him simultaneously felt like a stab to the heart and a soothing balm - the pain of his months long ordeal battling for dominance with the relief and safety he felt hearing those words once more.

 

“Hey, hey.” Bucky said softly, and Steve hadn’t even known he was crying again until his lover wiped the tears from his face. “What’sa matter?”

 

“Nothing.” Steve said, refusing to let HYDRA take this moment from him, to miss another chance to tell Bucky how he felt. “I love you, too.” Steve could barely get the words out past the sobs that wracked his body. “I love you so much.”

 

“Breathe, baby.” Bucky pleaded, resting their foreheads together, his hand moving in small circles on Steve’s lower back. “It’s alright. I gotcha.”

 

Being on the dictionary definition of an emotional roller coaster, Steve was able to reign in his sobs before a full breakdown insued.

 

Bucky continued to hold him, anchoring Steve to the here and now, in which every dream that Steve hadn’t dared wish for since Bucky fell off that godforsaken train was coming true.

 

“Tell me.” Bucky whispered into the silence.

 

“Huh?”

 

“What just now was about. Tell me.”

 

“It isn’t-”

 

“Don’t say it’s not a big deal, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was the firmest it’d been since he had arrived, but it was still cloaked in concern and comfort. “HYDRA mind fucked us both. And we’re gonna have to climb through that a little bit at a time.” He placed a gentle kiss on Steve’s forehead. “So, tell me what’s going through your head.”

 

Steve exhaled loudly, mouth moving wordlessly for a moment as Steve struggled with how to word what had happened to him.

 

“You know how Faustus made me see visions of you?”

  
Bucky nodded.

 

“You - he - it…” Steve swallowed loudly. He reached out blindly for Bucky’s hand, relaxing as the brunet intertwined their fingers and squeezed.

 

“You said you wished you’d never loved me.”

 

The whisper was soft, broken, but the exhale from Bucky sounded like he had just taken a punch to the gut.

 

“Stevie.” Bucky whispered, bringing Steve’s hand up to his own and kissing every knuckle. “Lot of things I regret in this world, darlin’. But you’ve always been the best part of me. End of the line.”

 

Steve let out a loud exhale, eyes fluttering shut as months of stress and guilt and concerns that Bucky hated him seeped out of his body, as he sagged against Bucky’s chest. “End of the line.” He breathed, hand tightening on Bucky’s shirt.

 

Bucky hugged Steve close until his breathing slowed, the stress as removed from his body as it could be at that moment.

 

With Steve calm, Bucky’s focus shifted to the object burning in his pocket.

 

“I...um….” Bucky began to fidget nervously.

 

“Buck?” Steve pulled away, worry lines forming on his forehead and between his brows.

 

“I, uh, stopped on the way here and got you something? I don’t know if you’ll still want it after everything...or if it’ll even _fit_ anymore.” Bucky leaned forward to rest his forehead on Steve’s. “God, you’re so _skinny_.” The fear and remorse had crept into Bucky’s voice, causing it to crack.

 

“Hey,” Steve shushed him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m okay. We’ll get better together, alright? Three square meals, eight hours of sleep?” He leaned forward to give Bucky a quick peck on the lips. “We’ll be okay.”

 

Bucky nodded, and began to reach toward his pocket, his hand shaking violently, his breath coming out in short, nervous spurts.

 

“I...um...I just thought since we couldn’t before, well, we did but it wasn’t _legal_ or anything...” His rambling trailed off.

 

“Bucky?”

 

Bucky finally pulled the small jewelry box from his pants pocket, speaking rapidly. “And I don’t know if you’ll even like the design, but we can get you a different one, if you even still want to-” He paused and took a deep breath, finally looking up toward Steve as he opened the box.

 

Inside was a simple silver engagement ring, nothing flashy or  over-the-top. But, Bucky knew Steve, at least the Steve of old, and knew after his time as a “dancing monkey” (Steve’s words, not his) he hated flashy and unnecessary flare. That, and of course his incredibly need to get to Steve as soon as possible, had made the trip to the jewelry store a rather quick stop.

 

“Steve, doll...will you marry me?”

 

Steve didn’t move, remaining frozen in front of the brunet, his eyes glued to the box as if it would explode at any moment.

 

A long, tense silence.

 

“Stevie?

 

The blond still didn’t respond, and God, Bucky’s heart shattered into a million pieces. Of _course_ Steve wouldn’t want him anymore. He was a fucking one-armed, traumatized assassin who hadn’t even begun to process what all he had gone through. He was dark, tainted, and Steven Grant Rogers - the brightest person to ever grace this planet - deserved so much better than that.

 

“‘m sorry.” Bucky muttered, trying and failing to keep the misery out of his voice as he slammed the lid shut. “I shouldn’t have - HYDRA fucking ruined me, of course you don’t want me anymore-”

 

Steve’s head shot up, eyes wide with confusion and shock, before they narrowed in anger. He reached up to grip Bucky’s shirt, pulling him into a searing kiss.

 

It only lasted a brief moment before. “Shut the hell up right now, James Buchanan Barnes.”

 

“Nothing HYDRA did was your fault or would make me love you any less, okay? I’m just...ten minutes ago I thought you were dead.” Steve blinked back tears. “Buck, I thought you were _dead_. I thought I had nothing and now… Of course, I’ll marry you.”

 

Bucky looked at Steve with so much hope that a normal man would break under the weight of it. “You really want to?”

 

“I’ve loved you since I was twelve. Only thing changing is I can finally let everyone know.”

 

Bucky’s face crumbled as he lunged forward, lips meeting Steve’s in a sweet, but desperate kiss.

 

Steve kissed back in earnest, his smile pressed against Bucky’s lips, before he finally pulled back.

 

“So, want to put it on me?”

 

“God, you’re impatient.”

 

“Over 80 years since our first kiss, Buck. _Eighty_. I’m allowed to be impatient.”

 

Bucky laughed, loud and carefree and God, if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound that Steve had ever heard.

 

He held Steve’s hand with such care as he slid the ring onto his finger, grinning from ear-to-ear, eyes misty and bright.

 

As soon as the ring was secure, it was Steve’s turn to frame Bucky’s face, bringing him in for a quick kiss, resting his forehead against Bucky’s as the two just basked in one another’s presence.

 

“I missed you.” Steve whispered.

 

“Missed you too, Sweetheart.”

 

“So, what now?” Steve questioned, burrowing back into Bucky’s chest, an action which Bucky was more than okay with.

 

“Well, first, I’m going to make you something to eat. Then, we’re going to lay down and get some sleep. And...I’ll probably never let you go again.”

 

“Sounds perfect.” Steve murmured.

**Author's Note:**

> Come on guys, like I could write /anything/ that didn't have a happy ending. I can't do it. Anyway, I hope you guys liked it. 
> 
> Come say hi and/or let me know what you think over on tumblr at: sgt-buckys-eyeliner.tumblr.com  
> And of course, say hi to my lovely beta reader: floating-khoshek-floats.tumblr.com


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